Herobrine's Story
This was revealed to us by Herobrine on the chat, and is being written here so all can know of it. '' HEROBRINE: In the beginning, there was nothing. Then, space was made. There was nothing in it, but at least there was space, and that was a major improvement. Because without it, there wouldn't have been anywhere to put things that aren't nothing. Add however much feels right. If you run out, make it more. If you get to infinity, and need to go beyond that, don't feel limited. After he made space, the creator put a box in it, to show off the three-dimensionyness of it. The creator was proud of how roomy it was. All good things start with space, and then a box. Or so the creator said. Dust is good. The creator never made dust directly. Dust was just what was left over after he scrapped early ideas. But as the creator used to say, even the dust is useful, so even these scrapped ideas have been a step forward. After playing around with different things that could be shown to occupy some of this newly created space, the creator said that the space and the things in it would be more interesting if they had a variability to them, something more interesting, a tool to help the things in the space to be more than what he put there, so he created time. The creator placed many white dots. ''Awesome mentions something about a wiki. HEROBRINE: The creator didn't have a wiki. Then again, he was all alone apart from me. Sometimes I felt that the creator was lonely. But I was never really sure. As he played with the time, I suggested that he create more things. Specifically, I suggested he make things that could be capable of changing the things in the space on their own. There were many steps from there to you, but in the end, that is where you all came from. I thought it would help to make the creator not feel so alone. Most of the things he created along those lines went about and did this and that, but they never really surprised the creator. They were easy to predict. I told the creator that he often surprised me and that perhaps that special element of him could be used by the things he created to be more interesting, less predictable. The creator was reluctant, but I insisted. The creator agreed to give it a shot and instilled in me the ability to take some of him and to instill it in the creatures he made. At first, the creator was pleased with what I had done, but the element of him that I instilled in them did not go away when they stopped being animate things. It permeated the space and the time he had created, and passed it on to new things, offspring. The creator became overwhelmed by it; it weighed on him heavily. The space was so simple before, but now the tranquility was broken. Things did not return to the state they had been in originally. This worried the creator, and me as well. Time got away from him, and I did too. The power he'd given me was pulling me out, across the time he had made, and the creator didn't understand me anymore. He'd insist that I was trying to confuse him, or that he didn't know why I'd say the things I said. He didn't seem to be aware of our conversations. Well, most of the time. Sometimes he'd be able to reply to me, but this was always when he was feeling exhausted. I could tell that I was making things worse for the creator, so I didn't speak to him. Through much effort and observation, I came to realize that the creator didn't work the same way that I did. He was limited in ways that were difficult for me to understand. I came to appreciate that, to him, there was a linearity to the time he'd created, that he could only appreciate events in an order that corresponded to that linear nature. I spoke to the creator again, but in an order he would understand. He was very weak. I tried to tell him what I knew, and he told me how he felt. The creator became sad. He was upset with me. When the creator became upset, I began to ache. I knew that I had to bring about an end to this leak of his essence that I had caused, or the creator would die. And I knew that if the creator weren't alive, he wouldn't have been able to make me, or the box, or the space, or anything else. And there wouldn't be able to be anything. Not even the nothing with which he started. I had to make sure it got done, to make it up to the creator for causing him this sadness. I had to become one of the creatures in order to do it, and I was limited in what I could do. I was not used to being so limited. But he insisted there was no other way to preserve creation. So I did it. To the creator, it took me hundreds of trillions of years. When I was finished, the creator was too weak to take back his essence. So, I did the only thing I could do to prevent it all from never having existed. I took the rest of the creator's essence too. He stopped being weak, and he stopped hurting, and everything went back to being tranquil in his space. He was no longer burdened. But he became so...predictable. He just existed, more or less. In a very non-specific way. I couldn't tell what he was doing anymore. Or what anything was doing. Everything sort of homogenized after that. And faded away... Nothing else ever happened. ''The end. ''